


Strangeness and Charm

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural, The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern
Genre: Adorable Castiel, Adorable Dean, Adorable Everyone, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Human, And Everybody Knows It, And Sam Is Totally Into It, Gabriel Does Magic Tricks, Gabriel is a Flirt, Human Castiel, M/M, Masquerade, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The circus came at night. No warning, no prelude; one night a field of shorn grass at the outer edge of Lawrence, Kansas was empty, and the next night it was not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Cirque Se Réveille

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so hi there! This is a work greatly inspired by a few things: "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern (such an adorable book, great read), circuses in general, and my fascination with Castiel's wings. So I decided to write this thing and made it as cute as damnably possible because there needs to be more adorable Destiel! So voila, here you go, enjoy!   
> Chapter Translation: "The Circus Awakens"  
> Muse-ic: Shake It Out Florence and the Machine

The circus came at night. No warning, no prelude; one night a field of shorn grass at the outer edge of Lawrence, Kansas was empty, and the next night it was not. Tents and spires spread across the ground like an immense black and white monster, sleeping among the dead grass and dried out wildflowers. Each marquee was either a black of the darkest shades of ink or a white shockingly pure, except for the main tent, the canvas-covered colossal, decorated with thick stripes of alternating black and white, two streaming spires rising up from the ground on either side, wrapped in helixing, stygian sheets of cloth. A charming, large silver clock hung from above the entrance, but it was neither remarkable in any way, nor did it keep any sort of time; the hands never moved.

From the outside, during the light hours of the day, the sprawling circus in its vastness seemed almost… _lonely._ A sign outside the main tent announced the proprietor of the circus, its name, and its official opening date in a swooping font, seemingly hand-inked.

****  
  


_**Le Cirque de Reves** _

_**Proprietor, Ring Master- Michael Milton** _

_**The Circus Opens At Sunset, and Closes at Dawn.** _

__

Crowds gathered, as they so often do. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers, quiet words amplified by a hundred different voices creating a muffled wind of noise.

“ _Le Cirque de Reves_.” One man read aloud, a question edging his voice.

“The Circus of Dreams.” Another answered, his face lost amid the throng of people.

Some of them waited, diligent and patient, until the sun began to dip in the sky and turned the blue of it a rich vermillion streaked with scarlet. Others left, only to come back as the sunset approached, curiosity having caught almost the entire town in its hands. Women brought their children, children brought their favorite toys, married couples brought their spouses, and every single one of them brought some sort of giddy apprehension as the night encroached upon that little strip of land at the edge of Lawrence.

Stars appeared overhead, the only light for a mile in any direction. Kids began to climb the neighboring trees in their boredom. The circus remained stubbornly, stoically, closed. Not even wind made the canvas quiver, its walls sturdily built as if they were made of stone.

A few lost hope, beginning to talk again in that susurrus of muted words more like static than conversation.

A sharp peal rang out over the field, a somber one-note knell of a large bell. The onlookers gasped, some jumped, even others cried out in surprise.

The hands of the lifeless clock had begun to move.

They swung around its dias as if stretching from a long sleep. Another bell, a higher note, rang out. The silver sides of the clock began to break apart as the hands swung faster, tiny shaped pieces of metal falling away from the clock and then connecting back together, the outlines of shapes and silhouettes of figures beginning to form from the sterling plating. In less than a minute they had assembled into their proper places, the tempo of the clock’s hands slowing while that of the chiming bells increasing. High-pitched strikes overlapped the low tolls, melodies piecing themselves together as the tiny metal plates had just seconds before, a harmonic symphony holding its audience’s complete attention.

The clock’s hands landed on the appropriate hour and the clock rang once more, now a sprawling network of animals, swirls, performers, boughs of trees, a menagerie in silver hung above the brow of the main tent.  As it did, the circus came alive around the townspeople, lights snapping on within each tent, rows and rows of twinkling white lights arranged in spirals across the cloth of the two big top spires came alive, the main tent was flooded with brilliant warm light and the entrance flaps were pushed wide open.

The Circus of Dreams reawoke.

 


	2. Nous Attendre en Prévision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I didn't think I'd get feedback for this so soon! Thank you, those of you who gave kudos and left comments (you know who you are, you beautiful little readers, you) and so here's the second installation! Plot continues a bit here, and we introduce some very key characters, ehehe... Enjoy!  
> Chapter Translation: 'We Wait In Anticipation'  
> Chapter Muse-ic: All I Want by Kodaline

Adam wanted to go to the circus.

Of course Adam wanted to go to the circus; Adam was ridiculous. Adam was also very annoying, so he reminded Sam of his intense, undying, burning _passion_ to go to the circus every waking moment. He daydreamed aloud about the tents, the food, the people, the performers, schemed about ways to sneak in, to steal tickets, maybe even get inside during the day when the circus was closed up.

Sam held onto every shred of his remaining control as Adam began his usual morning tirade about the circus that morning, because punching him in the face now would be extremely unsightly and if Sam could do anything, he could keep up appearances. They walked to town where they worked shoulder-to-shoulder, keeping on the side roads where the fields of wheat native to Kansas were unending.

“You think Dean could get us tickets?”

Sam blinks at Adam. He’d never asked before, just like he’d never asked if Sam actually wanted to go to this circus (which he didn’t, thanks), and a new development in Adam’s circus monologue was unusual.

“I don’t think Dean even wants to go.”

Adam’s scrawny little self bounced up and down beside the taller boy, tawny hair catching the light like spun gold.

“Can you ask him for me? Please Sam, come on, I’ll owe you one.”

Sam sighs forlornly, rubbing his face. it was too early in the morning for this, too early in the morning for anything, actually.

“Fine. I’ll ask him tonight. But if I do, whether he says yes or not, you’re gonna have to _shut up about the circus._ ”

Adam smirks at him.

“Deal.”

* * *

Dean paused as he opened the door, letting the hinges flex as gently as he could, listening for the silence he knew he would receive. Quietly he slipped inside the deserted house, placing his car keys inconspicuously on top of the key rack, and got maybe halfway through the kitchen before the lights came on like prison searchlights. He flinched, blinded by the sudden swell of light, and coughed out an _“Ow, damn!”_ before the interrogation began.

“Where were you?”

Dean ground his teeth, looking down, “Out.”   
“‘Out’? What do you mean, ‘out’? You were supposed to be home hours ago, Dean.”

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“You are so lucky Dad isn’t up. He’d have your ass on a platter.” Sam warns, frowning from where he leaned against the doorframe to the living room. The only thing worse than being caught by the Sammy Police was being caught by John Winchester, who became a mean sonofabitch when his kids broke his rules. Just thinking about it made the image of a whipping all the more real in Dean’s mind- he could already feel the bite of Dad’s leather belt against his skin…

“But Dad isn’t up, so my ass is staying where it belongs, brother dearest.” Dean retorts, stalking back to the fridge to pull out the half-empty carton of juice inside. He didn’t ask why Dad wasn’t up; he already knew. More often than not John Winchester could be found passed out on the couch in his room, the television on and eight beer bottles encircling him, streams of alcohol fresh from his lips pooling at the joint between his chin and chest. In the morning he’d be hungover and vile.

Sam offered him a sardonic smirk, arms crossed like he meant business.

“I won’t tell Dad about this, you know.”

Dean straightened, wary as a trapped animal, the suspicious plain and etched into his face.

“But?”

“But you’re going to take me and Adam to the circus tonight.”

Dean chokes on his laughter, holding the juice carton with one hand languidly. He bumps the fridge door closed with his hip, eyeing his little brother.

“You’re not serious. You want to go to the _circus_. With _Adam_. That kid’s an annoying little prick, you know that?”   
Sam scoffs, “Yeah, trust me, I know. But he wanted me to ask you if we could go tonight. I sort of want to know what everyone’s so excited about.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, takes a swig of the juice in a practiced motion, and sets the sweating carton down on the granite-topped island. Sam shrugs, trying to play the game out the way he knew Dean would fall for, keeping his eyes glued on the figure of his older brother for any indication, any miniscule movement, that would indicate consent.

Finally Dean rounds the corner of the island, picking up his keys and placing them gently down on the dark, slick stone before him. He folds his arms and leans on them, gaze level, but his eyebrows are still up in a way that shows Sam he doesn’t believe this sudden interest.

“You wanna go to the circus? Fine. Whatever,” he throws his hands up, moving his tongue across his teeth pensively, “but you pay. Alright? We go, you pay, we get back home before Dad gets up and puts _your_ ass over the fireplace next to mine. We’ll leave in a couple hours; call Adam.”

And so for the second time that day, Sam brokered a deal that revolved around this enigmatic circus of dreams.


	3. Pour Sentir la Grève de la Foudre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just putting it out there again, that you guys are seriously awesome. Thanks again, have another chapter!  
> Chapter Translation: 'To Feel the Strike of Lightning'  
> Chapter Muse-ic: All the Right Moves by OneRepublic

She poked her head through the thick black curtains, velvet and heavy, to smile at him. She held a hand over her eyes, and he could see she had even painted her nails for the evening, a glossy black to match her outfit.

“You decent?”

“Come in, Charlie.” He sighs, but he’s smiling and she can hear it in his voice. Her eyes are delicately lined in kohl, thick red hair pulled away from her face into a knot. She looked pretty, he allowed himself, when she dressed for the circus.

But her outfit, though… Well, that was just as ridiculous as his. Or anyone’s, for that matter, who was performing tonight.

Black and white, that was the standard. There was no color to be found anywhere on them, no scrap of fabric that was anything but the darkest of darks or the brightest of lights. But somehow their attire managed to astound even the crew themselves, texture and pattern and arrangement so irrefutably perfect that no one horribly minded how drab the color scheme seemed to be.

Castiel smiled at her quietly, standing before the mirror propped against the wall with anxious fingers picking at his shirt. Charlie came up behind him, smiling in return at the mirror’s reflection, and helped straighten his collar. He could feel her long fingers adjusting the hem of it in the back.

“You’ll be fine.” She promises him. He only wished he looked half as lovely as she did, confident in her leotard and ribbon-wrapped feet. She stood on tiptoe to muss with his hair. He sighs, eyeing himself with a critical gaze. He’d lined his eyes, refusing Gabriel’s offer to do it for him out of abject fear and mistrust. His blue eyes looked scared to him, bright and beautiful, but terrified. Charlie caught these eyes and placed her chin on his shoulder. He realized she’d put on lipstick, too. The shock of that was more pensive than disconcerted.

“Seriously, you’ll be okay. Just, deep breaths. Right?”

“Right.” He agreed, but he did not feel the word’s comfort. Instead the knotted, clammy feeling he had in his stomach grew. He felt as though his atoms would simply break apart from each other if he shook anymore.

Charlie’s leotard was split down the middle by a row of black stitching, one side a checkerboard of black-and-white houndstooth print, the other solid velvet the color of obsidian. A corset of silver buttoned up to her chest, cut off at her waist. White ribbons wrapped itself in loose spirals around her arms, hands and feet wrapped in black cloth.

By comparison, Castiel was remarkably unadorned. He wore a black button-up the exact sheen of silk, a vest of the same color, and maybe-just-a-tad-too-tight pants. His shoes matched, and so did his hair by coincidence.

“Remember, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty. And turn around a few times. You’re good at that.” Charlie smirked at him, and he couldn’t help but quietly smile back.

“Good luck.” He calls to her as she slips past the curtains again.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” She calls back, laughter in her voice, a voice so bright it seemed to do cartwheels and backflips. Which was what Charlie did, and what she’d do again tonight in front of countless people.

_Countless…_

Castiel took another breath to steady his nerves but it did him little good. He could peek outside the curtain, see if anyone had shown up yet, but the thought was petrifying.

He slowly sucked in another breath, and as he did so, he let them stretch out behind him.

This is what they had come to see, he thought as they engulfed him, like a shadow come to life, a white brighter than snow and purer than light, soft down and tensile primaries. This was why he looked shabby and underdressed next to Charlie. While she was her own show, these were his. He’d done this so many times before, but each time brought a fresh wave of fear and apprehension, for the reactions. How many gasps would he elicit from the mouths of his audience? How many cries of fear or delight, how many shouts and how many expressions of disbelief and fear would he draw out tonight alone? Not for him, not for his talents or his charm, but for these. These…

These _wings_.

Castiel let them fall again, hidden behind his back from his reflection. At least in mirrors he could appear fully human, but that took effort, adjusting each wing to fall precisely behind him without deviance. He patted his hair flat, to give his hands something to do besides worry the hem of his shirt. One of the dancers, in the encroaching darkness it was hard to tell who it was, poked her head through the curtains, delicate fingers powdered with white chalk drawing back the fabric. She smiled at him through her white face paint, but it was a timid smile and it hardly reached her eyes.

“Five minutes, okay?”

Castiel offered a weak smile as means of reply, his throat too dry to speak.

Five minutes.

* * *

 

It occurred to Sam that was probably, really, a very bad idea. But that thought was struck like a baseball by a bat when he lifted the canvas into the tent, flying away from his mind.

Adam grinned at him from his side, slipping under and through to stand next to him. Sam couldn’t help but look around, expression drenched in awe.

They’d managed to sneak away from Dean within the first five minutes, Adam’s idea, of course. It wasn’t actually that hard- the Circus of Dreams was just that, something that seemed to have been conjured up from a children’s late-night fantasy, black and white and beautiful, twinkling string lights hung from the tents’ black vaulted roofs, stars on a dark background. The performers were beautiful, ethereal, contortionists whose bodies looked as if they had been dipped in black leather, funambulists doing extraordinary tricks everywhere they went, entering tents at random to perform and then disappearing in wisps of black and white. Vendors sold thick, rich hot chocolate and churros, danishes, old-fashioned hand-made donuts, the scent of sweet batter breathtaking. And all the while that spectacular, strange clock outside kept the hour for them, ringing routinely, the sound of silver bells chiming like a light cool breeze.

But Adam wasn’t satisfied, not in the least, by these once-in-a-lifetime sights, these stunning exhibits. He took Sam here, instead, and together they had snuck unseen into the menagerie.

Sam missed the smell of sugared, warm food immediately.The air was cooler here, almost wet with moisture, the freshly-packed soil under their feet filling their noses. Cages lined the tent, stretching back farther than the eye could see, a giant space brimming with iron bars and locks. Most of the cages were emptied, their tenants out performing. Penguins clamored in the far corner, taking up two cages next to the zebra’s pen. Across the way a few spare stallions nickered quietly, mares by their docility, one black as pitch and the other alabaster.

Adam ran to one of the emptied stalls without prelude, climbing up into the mouth of it, using the iron bars as handholds to hoist himself into the cage.

“Adam!” Sam hissed, starting after him, “What are you doing? Get down!”

“Christ Sam, relax!” The tawny-haired irritation replies, standing upright in his new playground. He smiles down at his friend, hand on the door to the cage, when suddenly his expression fills with terror. The door swings shut with an audible clang, Adam clawing desperately at the bars. Sam shouted, running toward the door, trying to pry it open. It came easily away in his hand, opening up without protest.

He stared at it, struck dumb, as Adam began to laugh without abandon. His gaze turned suddenly murderous.

“That,” said Sam, “was NOT funny, Adam. You asshole!”

“What are you talking about, that was awesome! You should’ve seen your face, oh my God.” Adam managed between bouts of his own laughter.

“I should’ve just left you in the cage.” Sam mutters, looking around to see if anyone had heard them. “Come on.”

* * *

****

Dean was ninety-nine percent sure he was going to murder his little brother. He bit down on another one of his licorice wheels, moving through throngs of people, trying with Herculean effort not to get annoyed beyond imagining with them.

They were black licorice wheels, to match the black-and-white theme of the circus, but they had sweet hints of blackcurrant flavoring in them. While he bought them Sam and Adam had disappeared, the little assholes, and if he couldn’t find them by the time the sun came up he was royally screwed. They were in none of the performance tents as he’d suspected, so that meant they were probably doing something really stupid and maybe illegal in the other ones. Dean made a mental note to tell Sam to stay the fuck away from that Adam kid. Sam was obedient and kept his ass out of the fire on his own, but Adam had an almost brother-like hold on Sam; he’d make him do whatever he wanted, a weakness Dean had exploited a few times himself.

Dean quietly looked around the tent he was in, and seeing most everyone had become captivated by the acrobats doing tricks at the other end, slipped past the canvas into the menagerie.

And came crashing into something warm, solid, and most definitely _alive_.

Dean cursed reflexively as he stumbled back, canvas bending to support him as he backed up into it. The person he’d run into fell squarely on his ass, and it took him a few seconds to more clearly see him in the darkness of the tent.

“Jesus, I’m sorry. You okay?” He asks, offering a hand to pull the stranger up.

He wore complete black, which was probably why it was so hard for Dean to see him, but as this person accepted his hand and came face-to-face with him, the half-light suddenly didn’t seem to matter.

“I’m fine, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

Dean managed a weak little smile, distracted as he was by this stranger. He was more focused on trying (and failing) to look away from him.

“I’m, uh, I’m Dean.” He held his hand out. The stranger barely glanced at it.

“I’m sorry, I should- I need to go.” He stepped back, receding back into the darkness of the menagerie, becoming more shadow than human now. But his eyes were still shockingly visible, catching the light as if it was meant to illuminate his eyes, and his eyes alone. They were blue, hypnotic cyanosis, pretty and delicate like painted glass. They were thinly lined with a bit of black, and they were scared. Very, very scared.

“Hey, wait!” Dean called after him, but he had melted back into the darkness of the menagerie like a shadow rejoining its brothers, taking his exhilaratingly blue eyes with him. Dean exhales slowly, raising his eyebrows, then turns back to the mostly-empty cages in the tent.

“Sam?” He calls out, as loudly as he dares, grabbing hold of a fistful of the canvas behind him, just in case.

“Dean!”

His brother appears from behind one of the menagerie cages, Adam in quick pursuit. Sam hissed something to him under his breath as they run over to Dean, barely audible but definitely laced with obscenities. Adam scowls at him in reply.

“Fuck, Sam, don’t _do_ that, okay?” Dean growls, looking pointedly at Adam, who has enough grace to drop his gaze to the floor. Sam rolls his eyes, shrugging.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Who was that other guy you were with?” Dean asks, holding up the canvas for the other two to crawl under. Sam frowns, brows coming together as Dean appears beside him.

“What guy?”

“You weren’t with somebody else in there? Black hair, blue eyes, little shorter than me?” Dean gestures first to the menagerie, and then to just about eye-level, eyebrows up. Sam shakes his head slowly, looking to Adam, who does the same.

“Well,” Dean says instead, picking another licorice wheel out of his coat pocket and catching it between his teeth, “Then I’m officially weirded out.” **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did make the 'Adam's-still-in-the-cage' joke. HUEHUEHUE  
> And also, I just recently found out that it's apparently canon that Dean likes black licorice, which is awesome because I do too, so I just had to put that in there.   
> We introduced Cas! Hurray! And no, this isn't the last you will get of WOW-his-eyes-are-so-blue-like-wow


End file.
